Fearless
by saberivojo
Summary: Dean's in trouble, Dad's a little pissed.


Title: Fearless

Author: Saberivojo

Rating: PG  
>Characters: John, Teen!Dean<br>Warnings/Rating: Gen. Some potty mouth...PG-13  
>Summary: Dean's in trouble, Dad's a little pissed.<br>Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not getting paid. Just like playing with the boys.

XX

Dean fixed his gaze past the man's shoulder and try to breath normally. He steeled himself for the next barrage of yelling and wondered briefly if this was what a recruit felt like in the Marines. Probably. Marine was his father's favorite fallback stance. Whenever the shit hit the fan, he was more likely than not to shift into Marine mode.

"Since when do you disobey a direct order, Dean?"

Dean figured that was one of those questions he was not really supposed to answer. He was right.

"Didn't I tell you to wait? Didn't I tell you not to go in under any circumstances? Was there something about my orders you didn't understand?"

Dean swallowed reflexively, chanced a quick glance at his dad but wished he hadn't. It was better not to look. He figured he would be one of those pussies who took the blindfold when it came to the firing squad.

Firing squad? That sounded like a viable option right about now.

Dean took a deep breath because it seemed that last questions demanded an answer. He riveted his eyes back to that sweet spot behind his dad's right shoulder.

"No, sir." Short and sweet. No need to dig himself any deeper.

Dad shifted from yelling to growling. Oh, this was so not good. "So you knew exactly what I wanted and you deliberately disobeyed my orders." The bass rumbled in John Winchester, his voice low and dangerous.

Dean was so fucked it was not even funny.

It was not a question; just a statement of fact, but despite how worried it made him, Dean thought being truthful would be best.

His voice dropped a notch, but it was steady. "Yes, sir."

Dean wasn't often afraid of his father. Oh, he had a healthy respect for his father's right hand. He could cuff hard enough to knock the backchat right out of a kid. He had even been known to apply hand to ass in such a way as to make the offender reconsider whatever he had done to deserve the smacks

Dean had seen the wrath of John Winchester directed at dozen different types of monsters. He knew without a doubt that Dad could offer a blazing glare that grown men had been known to wilt under. But

Dean afraid of his own father? No. That is until today, because right now, Dean thought that maybe he was afraid.

Fear was something to be used. Dad taught him that. It could make you careful; it could make you think. Fear could be a good thing, as long as it didn't incapacitate you. Dean was not sure if he was incapacitated, but he was breathing hard. His heart was hammering in his chest and that fight or flight reflex that he learned about in school was probably driving his blood pressure up to some kind of number that a normal teenager should never see.

They were on the precipice, dangling on the peak of his father's anger. A little shove one way or another and it would be all she wrote. Dean knew without a doubt he had disobeyed his dad, knew punishment for that sin was swift and sure, knew he deserved it. But just as much as all that was true, so was the fact that he would not change it. He would not apologize. And so all he could do was stand there and take whatever Dad dished out.

It didn't matter - wrong was wrong. And wrong was whatever John Winchester said it was.

Black and white.

Good and Evil.

Absolutes.

But Dean knew when it came to his family, nothing was absolute. Nothing except he would do absolutely anything to save them.

Period.

Honestly though, just because he was prepared for his father's anger it didn't mean he would like it. He had shot the werewolf with calmness and steel he wasn't sure he had. He could face his father with that same composure.

He tightened his jaw. Took a shallow breath and wondered briefly if he was hyperventilating. Because that would be fucking wonderful, pass out like a little girl simply because he was getting yelled at by his old man. He sniffed quietly. Old man, my ass. John Winchester could still kick Dean's ass every day of the week and twice on Sundays. Again, just a statement of fact.

Dad stepped a half step out away from Dean and raked a hand through his hair. Despite the breathing space it gave Dean, Dad's eyes didn't soften, in fact, maybe drilled a little harder. Damn, it was hard to focus when Dad looked like that.

"What the hell am I gonna do with you?" Dad almost spoke to himself, low and quiet. While Dean didn't catch a whiff of indecision in his father's voice there was a hint of resignation.

His father moved back toward Dean, eyes still smoldering with anger. Yeah, John Winchester was definitely something to be afraid of.

"Grounded. Nothin' but school and training. Extra PT starting right now. I want a five-mile run and you better hustle doing it. And if you ever disobey my orders again, I swear I will kick your sorry ass up one side of the street and down the other. Do you understand me, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

Dean looked at his father. He steadied his gaze, met his father's eyes with his own. And in one moment, there was a flash that Dean could not quite decipher. Gratitude? Worry? Recrimination? All the above?

John Winchester may not be an easy read for everyone, but for Dean he was usually pretty cut and dried.

Now though, the glance was too brief, the window of opportunity slammed shut before he could figure it out. Suddenly Dad was jumping down his throat.

"Move it, DEAN! NOW!"

Dean ran.

Out the front door and down the front steps. Five miles. In boots.


End file.
